


Pumpkin Pie

by oldestcharm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Halloween, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2020-09-01 08:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20255173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldestcharm/pseuds/oldestcharm
Summary: Derek has pie and Stiles has a pumpkin. The answers are floating somewhere between them.





	Pumpkin Pie

Derek doesn't acknowledge exactly what prompts him to visit the Stilinski residence first thing back in town, but he does so anyway, drawn to it by some inexplicable longing that overrides his interest in any other location in Beacon Hills. It is not as though there are many good memories pulling him back, but he'd bought a pie from a bakery in Sacramento and couldn't quite bring himself to eat it on his own. The goddamned thing now sits on the passenger seat, almost mocking him for being so sickeningly sentimental.

Derek sighs and parks the Camaro in the driveway, noticing the clear absence of the bright blue Jeep. He tilts his head curiously and searches for heartbeats inside the house, finding only one, which he is certain belongs to Stiles and Stiles only. It quickens with a small noise of distress and a sharp intake of breath, but subsides in mere seconds, and maybe Derek doesn't think about it too much before he grabs the pie and climbs his usual way up to the window.

Groaning at his own lack of self control, he taps on the window and waits. After some shuffling from the inside and a clank of metal, the curtain is pulled back and he is suddenly face to face with Stiles. It's only been a couple of months, technically, but Stiles looks different, like it's been much longer. He looks a bit wrecked, Derek dares to note and it’s certainly not pleasant.

Stiles blinks at him, subtly glancing down at his fingers -- counting, Derek thinks -- and unlocks the window to pull it open. He steps back, giving Derek room to slide inside and he drops noiselessly onto the wooden floor.

"Thanks," Derek smiles, straightens slightly and curses himself mentally, because he hasn't thought this through at all and it's a bit too late to come up with an actual plan now.

There's a moment where Stiles frowns slightly, before he reaches out a hand and pats Derek awkwardly on the arm. "You're welcome?"

“Yes,” He nods decidedly, just so they can move on. He expects Stiles to ask right then, to needle him about his presence, but instead Stiles just nods along with him as though all this is expected and goes back to his task.

"What are you doing?" Derek asks, feeling a little silly, because it is painfully obvious. The large pumpkin on the floor with newspaper laid underneath, a kitchen towel soaked in blood and a large knife haphazardly thrown onto a pile of sludge all seem pretty self-explanatory, though somewhat off-putting.

"Searching for some normalcy," comes the surprising reply and Derek tilts his head curiously as Stiles continues his work on the pumpkin. It's a little alarming to watch, the carelessness with which Stiles handles the knife as though the cuts on his hands will heal just as quickly as Derek's would.

He considers the situation for a moment, before sitting down on the floor to face Stiles in what he hopes is companionable silence. Stiles looks up, face expressionless.

"You're in my bedroom." He offers eventually as if he's the one with all the answers and Derek just shrugs.

"Yeah. I brought pie." He says, tugging the sleeves of his sweater over his knuckles. Stiles tracks the movement through narrowed eyes and sets down the knife.

"That's sweet of you." He offers, wiping his hands on the bloody towel. "I wasn't aware you were in town." Stiles says it like it's a question, like he is asking something entirely unrelated. Derek doesn't quite know, so he scratches at his beard thoughtfully and hums.

"Drove here from Sacramento." He offers as an explanation, watching Stiles' face for any further clues. He looks confused for a moment, hopeful and then upset. Derek bites his lip. "I don't really know, I guess I just missed you." He finishes a little lamely and turns to stare at the cardboard box on Stiles' bed to avoid the intensity of his gaze.

“Me?” Stiles asks after a moment and Derek glances back at him just in time to see him tap at the pumpkin and pull a face at it.

“Oh,” Derek says, suddenly feeling the chill, “I can leave if you-”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Stiles interrupts quickly and leans forward a bit. “It’s just… well, this is going to sound stupid, but… are you sure you want to be here right now?”

Derek blinks. “I- what? Of course I want to be here, I just drove two hours to share a pie with you.”

Stiles eyes him suspiciously for a moment or two before he tugs his phone closer, checking the screen. He seems to deflate visibly. “I see. Cool, I guess. And not so spooky after all.”

“Spooky,” Derek repeats, tilting his head to the side. He feels as though once again Stiles is way ahead of the conversation and he’s desperately struggling to catch up with him.

Stiles offers a hesitant smile before he twists the pumpkin around for Derek to see and it’s- Well. It’s something. Not a masterpiece at any rate, but as Derek inspects the thick eyebrows, sharp fangs and somewhat wobbly wolf ears, he has a distinct feeling it’s supposed to be _him_.

“Cute.” He says, warmth spreading inside him and he can’t quite hold back the smirk. “Is that me?”

Stiles hums, nodding. “Suppose you just have the kind of face to carve into a fruit.”

“Wait,” Derek says, because something’s clicking now and he narrows his eyes at Stiles’ phone, discarded on the floor once again. “You thought you’d what- summoned me?” He asks, incredulous.

“Maybe,” Stiles admits with half a shrug and then the tapping is back. Derek wonders if he’s trying to ground himself to something. “You know I- well, we don’t really talk about it, do we?”

“Oh, the spooky thing?” Derek asks, because even though he knows they’re both referencing Stiles’ strange abilities, he thinks somehow it’s easier on Stiles when it’s discussed flippantly. As though it makes it less real and imposing.

“Yes.” Stiles says, inhaling sharply and he’s staring now, staring at Derek like he’s starving for something. Derek thinks it might just be acknowledgement. Wonders if he should have mentioned it earlier, if Stiles has been cataloguing it all, doubting his own sanity.

“Would you like to talk about it?” He asks hesitantly, the twinge of guilt propelling him forward.

Stiles pauses, teeth digging into his lower lip. “Maybe. No, I- Yes?” He shifts his position on the floor and rests his chin on one of his knees. It’s sort of endearing, really, except Derek can _smell_ his anxiety and it’s difficult not to be affected by it.

He waits him out instead.

“Remember when it was Lydia and Jackson and then- well, everyone else, really, and especially me when I was-” He stops abruptly and shakes his head as if to discard an unpleasant memory. “You know what I mean. I guess I don’t want to be trouble. Again. And I’m not sure I want my dad or Scott to know.”

“I won’t tell.” Derek says softly and shifts so he can lean forward. “And I don’t think you’re trouble.”

“You can’t know that.” Stiles says, lips pressing into a thin line.

“Alright then,” Derek allows, scratching absently at his beard. “Why do you think you’re trouble?”

Stiles meets his eyes again. “Peter thinks I’m interesting.”

“Maybe you have a point there.” Derek smiles, just a little. “I wouldn’t worry too much, though. He also finds Lydia interesting and that turned out relatively well, didn’t it?”

“Relatively. It’s still unsettling.” Stiles says, but he looks a bit more relaxed now.

“Yeah,” Derek nods, reaching out to cover the nervously tapping fingers with his own. “But… if you want we can look into it. Just the two of us.”

Derek isn’t entirely sure about the offer. It feels as though he’s offering something else entirely, but he doesn’t want to think about it just yet.

"I suppose," Stiles begins in a halted manner, eyeing their hands resting on the smooth surface of the pumpkin with a thoughtful expression and Derek thinks that once again it’s Stiles who has the answers, before the man continues, “I could offer you some tea?”

For a moment Derek doesn’t know whether this is a rejection or an invitation, but then Stiles smiles at him and everything seems a lot clearer.

“Alright.” He says and suddenly Stiles is tugging at his hand and unfolding his long limbs.

“Come on then,” Stiles prompts as he pulls Derek up from the floor alongside him. “You can bring your pie.”  



End file.
